The Naked Strokie

I was asked this week how and when I decided to become a naturist. Well, I wrote in my first post for this blog about how a lady I worked with in my first job was happy to let colleagues know that she and her husband enjoyed naturist holidays. I suppose that was the first time it dawned on me that naturists weren't all sex-crazed weirdos, but ordinary people like this lady who, incidentally, lived in one of the leafiest parts of the posh middle-class Birmingham suburb of Sutton Coldfield. But there were a lot of people working in that newspaper office (this was a very long time ago, in the mid-1980s before the internet decimated the newspaper industry) and as far as I know, I am the only one who ever showed any interest in social nudity. So what made me different? If I am able to thank anyone for planting the seed of naturism in my brain, it would be my late mother. I was brought up in a house with a large back garden, with fencing on three sides and a field occupied only by ho...

One of the things which most puts off British people from trying naturism is our inclement weather. ''I'd definitely be willing to try it, but not in this country; it's too cold'' is a comment which I hear depressingly often from would-be British naturists. I get it. There are really only three months at most where the British climate is reliable enough for outdoor nudism. But naturism doesn't have to be a one-dimensional activity involving lying on a beach or swimming. As I said in my last post, an easy way into naturism is to turn the central heating up and be nude at home; dispense with the dressing gown between bedroom and bathroom, sit around nude late at night or if you work from home, then don't bother to get dressed in the mornings. As a writer and journalist, I often work nude, with the sun streaming through the southeast-facing windows of our house. There are other options. My wife and I regularly visit Clover Spa (www.cloverspa.co.uk) in t...